i think it’s ‘cause
i’ve never had
a boy to call my own
no whispered names, no midnight texts
no ache i’ve ever known
maybe that’s why i can’t quite grasp
why beautiful girls stay
my little sister and dearest friends
when what they call “love”
turns dull and gray
he speaks in thorns
not petals soft
and yet they hold on tight.
is it fear of being all alone
or hope that he’ll make it right?
and here i am
untouched by blinding love
can only stand and see
how strange it is to love someone
when they bring you only harm.

A broken mirror
A bleeding fist
A silver blade against a wrist
Tears falling down to lips unkissed
Ignore her and she won't exist
She's not that kind you'll come to miss